


i taste like magic, waves that swallow, quick and deep

by uaevuon



Series: Legends Never Die (the omegaverse geass AU) [8]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Clothed Sex, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Frottage, Immortality, Inverted Nipples, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Phichimetti, Sci-Fi Elements, Sub Victor Nikiforov, canon-typical exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 23:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17375585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uaevuon/pseuds/uaevuon
Summary: There was something to be said for ruining a vintage Prada suit.Now, Viktor wasn’t usually one for Prada. He had a long-standing loyalty to Dior for his formal suits, when he wasn’t in the market for a personal tailor and a garment patterned and cut directly to his figure. But this particular cut had graced the Prada lines in the 2030s, complimenting Viktor perfectly if he did say so himself, and when Viktor found a pristine, genuine vintage on the first day of the new century, he’d snapped it up, reserved a space for it in his minimal luggage, and saved the priceless garments for the perfect occasion.





	i taste like magic, waves that swallow, quick and deep

**Author's Note:**

> **this work is part of a series, and will not make any sense without having read the previous parts.**
> 
> CW: public horny, followed by smut. and pls don’t forget they’ve got pussy

Yuuri and Viktor’s heats hadn’t cut in significantly to Yuuri’s practice, with only a few days lost, but Yuuri resolved to make up every lost moment on the ice. Viktor tried to convince Yuuri he was overcompensating, with how often Yuuri ended up back at Ice Castle after dinner, but Yuuri insisted he needed to be _perfect_ , if he was going to have any chance at besting Viktor. He had to make it to the Grand Prix Final, he had to win, and that medal was for himself; for Viktor, he wanted to wipe his scores clean off the table in front of the whole world. To do that, he had to practice the hardest, had to become better than the best. If there was ever a time for Yuuri’s vast well of potential to develop into a head of skill, it was now. 

His competition would be steep leading up to the Final. Yuuri’s placements in the qualifiers were the third and sixth events, the Cup of Soweto and Rostelecom Cup. While he was a little put-out that his utter embarrassment at the previous year’s Nationals lost him his spot at the NHK Trophy, he was no less determined to win in Johannesburg and Moscow. 

In Johannesburg, Yuuri would be up against the likes of Christophe Giacometti, the omega on top of the world, reigning champion at the Grand Prix in the last few years. As well, he’d face off against Georgi Popovich, Russia’s darling, with his ridiculous costumes and incredible emotive performances. Phichit would be there in only his second Grand Prix appearance, this being the first year he had two assignments, and Yuuri knew exactly how good his best friend was, how hard he’d practiced, how much determination the effervescent young beta had built up over the years. Rostelecom would bring him up against Michele Crispino, who’d bested him at the previous Grand Prix Final; Seung-Gil Lee, with his quad loop; the young J.J. Leroy, who was already shooting up through the ranks of skaters with ridiculous numbers of quads; and of course, Yuri Plisetsky, who needed no introduction. Not to mention the others -- Guang-hong Ji, Leo de la Iglesia, Emil Nekola, and those in other qualifiers, who he might not have the chance to compete against until the Final. 

The competition was steep, and Yuuri was, in a word, terrified; in a second word, determined. _I will win_ , he told himself. _I’ll show my love to Viktor and the whole world. I’ll prove it with a gold medal_. 

Of course, love didn’t need proof, and nothing so material as a hunk of gold-dipped nickel would provide that proof even if it did. But having something tangible to work towards constantly fortified his stubbornness, his stamina. It pushed and pulled Yuuri in all the directions he needed to go. It was the impetus by which Yuuri growled out _one more time_ over and over until Viktor had to drag him bodily from the ice, one hand directing Yuuri by the hip and the other covering his neck, soothing his bullheadedness with an infusion of Viktor’s scent. 

All too soon, Yuuri found himself disembarking a sub-orbital jet in Johannesburg, fast-tracking through customs, and mounting the nearest Skywalk, one route of many on a spiderweb network of conveyor belts designed to speed up walking throughout the city as the metropolitan design continued to sprawl outwards. South African teams had dominated in Ice Dance for decades, and with the most recent restructuring of Grand Prix locations, Johannesburg opened its new ice arena to the event, and three new Skywalks opened, providing additional service to the arena. 

Yuuri knew, from the whisperings of those around him on the crowded skywalk and from Viktor’s excited stories on the shuttle, that the city was beautiful, with some of the most forward-thinking infrastructure in the world interspersed seamlessly with historic architecture. But Yuuri barely saw it, instead curled inwards on himself with nerves as the city flew past, the Skywalk taking him through without a care in the world to his fraught emotions. 

Those nerves followed Yuuri all the way to check-in, through the interviews Yuuri faced; through Viktor’s running commentary on the various dining options near the arena and attached hotel. Trust Viktor to distract Yuuri with food. 

\---

Of all the places Yuuri was expecting to be touched immediately upon entering the skaters’ waiting room, his ass was not one of them. This, of course, was the first place an unknown hand fell; after a moment of panic, in which Yuuri readied his elbow for a strike to a stranger’s solar plexus, competition be damned, the heady scent of rose water and chocolate filled his nose, thick enough to make his senses blur. 

“C-Chris…” Yuuri stuttered. His competitor towered over him, arms coming around Yuuri, hands nearly fondling his chest, and if this wasn’t classic Christophe Giacometti, Yuuri probably would be revving up that elbow-to-the-chest anyway. But he was used to Chris, and Chris was used to Yuuri’s absolute befuddlement when any pretty, nice-smelling omega felt him up, even if Yuuri wasn’t precisely interested in him at the moment. 

“Hmm, looks like Master is keeping his student occupied,” Chris said, vague enough that Yuuri wasn’t sure who Chris was referring to with that mention of _Master_. Chris knew of Yuuri’s preferences. From experience, in fact; Chris had submitted beautifully during one of Yuuri’s more aggressive heats, but of course, he was too self-involved for Yuuri to pin down for more than one encounter, and Yuuri was too possessive to let Chris sleep around the way he was meant to, not to mention his habit of throwing off anyone he’d already fucked. Then again, Viktor _was_ his coach, so for all Yuuri knew, Chris could have assumed the tables had turned. “It’s selfish of you to keep Viktor all to yourself, you know.”

“Viktor? Uh, you mean, Nicholas--”

“Oh, come on, Yuuri. I’m a few thousand years older than him, I’m not fooled.” 

Yuuri groaned and leaned his head back into Chris’s chest. “Seriously, how many of you _are_ there in figure skating?” 

Chris chuckled low in his belly, finally releasing Yuuri after a teasing stroke of his fingers up Yuuri’s jacket zipper. “Is it such a surprise? Skating is the perfect counterpoint to the life of hedonism I lead while I’m retired.” 

“Since when do you need to be retired to live your life of hedonism?” Yuuri pointed out. 

Chris considered this. “Good point. Ah, there he is.” Chris broke away from Yuuri, walking right up to Viktor and picking up the laminated card from his chest that listed Viktor’s credentials, again under the fake name _Nicholas Wynne_. “You’re really not competing?”

“Not interested,” Viktor said. 

Chris sighed and let the card slip through his fingers, lanyard fluttering as it settled against Viktor’s crisp suit jacket again. “I guess I can’t force you. But don’t you think the world is missing out?”

“I’ve already given my life to the world, and to skating. I think that’s quite enough.” Viktor crossed his arms, closing himself off to further conversation on the topic. “Yuuri is a worthy competitor; I hope you’ll recognize him as my equal and put the kind of effort into him that you say you did competing against me.”

“Stuck-up as always,” Chris said, and he slung an amicable arm over Viktor’s shoulders. 

Yuuri watched the pair bicker good-naturedly, and after a moment, it hit him. “Oh,” he said, perhaps louder than he meant to. 

“Oh?” Chris repeated, an eyebrow raised along with his usual suggestive smile.

“Gabriel Roche?” Yuuri blurted out. The name belonged to one of Viktor’s contemporaries, the man who’d won silver to his gold time and time again, his blatantly erotic skating style seeming suddenly so familiar as a man who bore such a similar face stood next to Viktor himself. 

“ _Oui_!” Chris confirmed. “That was me.”

That explained the familiarity between them; Chris, or rather, _Gabriel_ had been one of Viktor’s closest friends in the early 2010s, before Viktor’s reported death. And here they were, reunited after all this time. 

“I haven’t seen this stuck-up bastard since 2056,” Chris said, ribbing Viktor. 

“I was in Europe last time you were retired. You could have visited.”

“Mm, I could have, but what’s the fun in chasing you when you want so desperately to be found?” Chris teased. 

“Don’t,” Viktor warned. “He doesn’t know.”

Chris glanced at Yuuri. “You mean he hasn’t yet? I would have bet on him.”

Viktor shrugged, instead of answering. Yuuri couldn’t tell if Viktor didn’t return Chris’s sentiment of friendship, or if this was just how they communicated. 

Yuuri found himself bodily attacked once again, this time by a much shorter and more excitable acquaintance. 

“YUURI!”

Yuuri shrieked, twisting around in place to hug his best friend. “Phichit!” 

“I’ve missed you so much!” Phichit said -- though it had only been the previous night that they last saw one another, when Phichit and his coach had crashed Yuuri and Viktor’s impromptu dinner date and Coach Celestino unwisely challenged Viktor to a drinking game, he still felt the abandonment of the last few months without Yuuri. “Can you believe I made it to the Grand Prix again?” Phichit bounced in place. “Can you believe we’re finally here together? It’s a dream come true!” 

“It really is. I’m excited to see your programs in person,” Yuuri said. “I know how long you’ve been wanting to do _The King and the Skater_.”

Phichit started making excited and unintelligible noises as he squeezed Yuuri around the middle. His intense love for the vintage film was no secret; Yuuri was proud that Phichit could come to the Grand Prix with these programs, and judging by Phichit’s medal at Hielo Argentina, he had a good chance of taking them to the Final as well. 

“Yuuri, are you going to introduce your friend to us?” Chris said. He still hung off of Viktor, but let go and stepped around him after asking. 

“Um, sure. Phichit, this is Christophe Giacometti; Chris, Phichit Chulanont.”

Phichit stepped forward, bouncy as a ball, and took Chris’s hand between both of his, shaking vigorously. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Christophe! Can I call you Chris?” He barely waited for Chris to nod his assent before continuing. “I’m representing Thailand,” he said, and paused while Chris looked him up and down. 

Chris met his eyes once again. “Thailand is well-represented.” 

Phichit’s perfectly shaped and penciled brows shot upwards, his grin splitting even wider. Behind him, Yuuri covered his eyes with a hand and mumbled out, “He’s always like that.” 

Viktor stepped forward as well, holding a hand out. “Phichit. Nice to see you again without the haze of alcohol.” 

Phichit laughed as he shook Viktor’s hand. “Sure. So should I call you Nicholas or Viktor?” 

An awkward silence fell, as the three who were in on Viktor’s actual identity tried to figure out how best to address this. 

“You were calling him Viktor last night,” Phichit said to Yuuri, referring to their group dinner. “Is it a sex thing?” he stage-whispered; it was probably audible to most of the room, despite the rising noise level as the practice hour approached. 

“Um!” Yuuri spluttered a bit, but Viktor saved him from further embarrassment. 

“Please, call me Nicholas.” 

“Why does everyone think we’re sleeping together?” Yuuri moaned into his hands. 

“Well, aren’t you?” Chris asked. “You seemed pretty cozy last night.”

“Last night? Chris, you weren’t with us last night.” Yuuri noticed Phichit’s shoulders hunch slightly, and he had his answer. “Phichit, you didn’t.” 

Yuuri immediately started up his watch display and looked through his social media, the various apps on which he never shared anything but used to like other skater’s posts every so often. He quickly came upon Phichit’s post, a photo of Viktor, half-naked and all over Yuuri in the restaurant. It was captioned, _anyone here look familiar? lmao!!!_ and several suggestive emojis. Yuuri groaned aloud. 

Phichit tried to defend himself. “I couldn’t help it!” 

“Leo and Guang-hong resisted!” Yuuri whined. “Now if I screw up everyone’s going to think it was because I was fooling around with a Viktor Nikiforov lookalike.” 

“Will they really be wrong?” Phichit teased. Yuuri did not deign to answer this. 

“I have the room next to them,” Chris revealed. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” 

“Yes!” Phichit held out his watch and Chris bumped his against it; both devices made a quiet _ping!_ noise as they traded data. 

“You were just trying to get his number,” Yuuri accused, which was not so much an accusation when Chris and Phichit responded at the same time with, “Yes, and?” Yuuri shook his head, silently wishing his friend the best of luck with a pat to his shoulder. 

The speakers announced five minutes until the start of the warm-up period, and the group broke apart to lace up skates. As usual, Viktor helped Yuuri out of his trainers and into his skates, checking the blades for nicks, deft hands making sure the laces were perfectly tight. 

“How are you feeling?” Viktor asked. 

“Good, I think.” Yuuri took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve practiced a lot. And at this point, I know I can be… Eros.” His ears turned a bit pink at the tips. “I don’t know about the jumps, but I can at least give the audience a good show.” 

“You’ll be amazing. I know it.” Viktor reached up and pushed a stray lock of hair back, twisting it into the gelled style he’d spent twenty minutes perfecting that morning. “You look beautiful.” 

“It’s all your handiwork,” Yuuri said, gesturing to the full face of makeup Viktor had put on him. Foundation, contour, rouge, shadow, eyeliner, and even his brows were filled in. A dramatic look to match his performance. “You can put lipstick on a pig…”

“But you’re still my gorgeous, sexy katsudon underneath.” Viktor tapped his fingertips against Yuuri’s cheek twice. “You’re beautiful with or without the makeup, Yuuri. Though I will say, I did a pretty good job with your cat-eye. Now let’s get you on the ice.” 

Yuuri smiled at him; when he looked up, his eyes caught Chris’s across the small green room. Chris lifted his eyebrows twice, then walked out the door, heading for the ice. Yuuri sighed, not looking forward to the teasing he would no doubt get during their warm-up, but he stood and followed anyway. 

(Sure enough, the moment Yuuri passed close enough to hear it, Chris whispered, “Not fucking, my ass,” and left Yuuri behind with a healthy smack to his own gratuitous backside.)

All too soon, the warm-up was over, and the skaters left the ice to allow the resurfacer through. 

Yuuri allowed Viktor to help him out of his skates, but hurried him along, not wanting to let his body cool down before he skated third. He immediately headed for the hallways in the waiting area, starting up a light jog back and forth. He felt good; well-rested, focused, and in the perfect headspace to perform a program as demanding as _On Love: Eros_. Even his ankles hadn’t swollen when the skates came off, which was a miracle unto itself. 

He could feel Viktor’s eyes on him like a touch, but Yuuri didn’t stop moving. The pace wasn’t nearly enough to tire him, not when he felt this good, this _ready_. He could take on the world like this. He could even, dare he think it, take Viktor -- throw him on their hotel bed and absolutely ruin him, and he wanted to badly enough that all he could do was let the desire fill him up from within and then, when Viktor called him out to the cold of the rink, shove that desire into every part of him he needed for skating. 

Certain Viktor could smell the need on him at this distance, Yuuri let him unzip the Team Japan jacket and help him out of it. Viktor knelt down on the floor, his knees propped up on the slightly scuffed hem of his brown wool coat, and laced up Yuuri’s skates. Snug and sturdy, sharpened to perfection, and freshly polished to boot. 

Everything was perfect. 

Yuuri’s blade kissed the ice and he turned to face Viktor, to receive his coach’s words of encouragement. Viktor seemed at a loss for a moment, watching him with bright, excited eyes. Then fingers slid over the back of Yuuri’s hand, and Viktor’s thumb caressed the scent gland on the inside of his wrist. 

“No more of this alpha imitation nonsense. You’ve already seduced me as yourself.” Viktor breathed in deep as Yuuri’s scent shifted, enveloping them both. Yuuri watched as Viktor fought a battle in his mind, the fraught emotions fleeting, replaced by resolve as he decided to take a gamble on Yuuri’s all-too-blatant lust. 

“Show me what you’re thinking,” Viktor whispered, too quiet for even the most nosy of the news cameras to pick up. “Show me what you want to do to me. Show everyone.” 

Yuuri felt color flood his face, but he nodded once and tangled their fingers together, squeezing hard. He tipped his forehead against Viktor’s, and reminded him in a low voice -- “ _Don’t take your eyes off me_.”

\---

There was something to be said for ruining a vintage Prada suit. 

Now, Viktor wasn’t usually one for Prada. He had a long-standing loyalty to Dior for his formal suits, when he wasn’t in the market for a personal tailor and a garment patterned and cut directly to his figure. But this particular cut had graced the Prada lines in the 2030s, complimenting Viktor perfectly if he did say so himself, and when Viktor found a pristine, genuine vintage on the first day of the new century, he’d snapped it up, reserved a space for it in his minimal luggage, and saved the priceless garments for the perfect occasion. 

That perfect occasion, he’d decided, was the day of the men’s short program at the Cup of Soweto. Viktor matched the lush feeling of the bursting city in deep burgundy and satin lapels, his charcoal shirt and silver tie adding the touch of luxury he craved, standing beside Yuuri. They looked like a matched pair, Yuuri breathtaking and sensual in his glittering costume of mesh and crushed velvet, Viktor a perfect mix of capable coach and stunning arm candy at his right. 

And he’d gone and flooded the crotch of his irreplaceable suit like he was still in heat. 

Well, Viktor couldn’t take all the blame for himself. Yuuri looked so _good_ out there, so erotic, responding perfectly to Viktor’s challenge. Flexible and fluid, posturing and posing, exuding both the demanding submission of any omega and the careful dominance that was all Yuuri. Viktor was certain he was far from the only person caught between Yuuri’s fingers, far from the only omega rendered helpless at Yuuri’s unforgettable, inescapable pull. 

Nevertheless, Viktor had ruined a priceless suit. Soaked through his flimsy thong like it was nothing more than tissue paper. 

He kept his legs crossed in the kiss and cry, knowing the audience didn’t need to be distracted by his hard-on or the dark spot between his thighs while Yuuri received a new personal best score and jumped into first place. 

The stain, no matter how small it might have been at that time, would never come out; modern technology still hadn’t found a solution that could get omega slick out of cashmere. 

This little problem was not made any easier by the fact that Yuuri seemed to know implicitly exactly how fucked (or, rather, _unfucked_ ) he’d left Viktor. Yuuri allowed Viktor to unlace his skates and check his feet for any new injuries; Viktor planned to leave the more thorough cleaning and massage for when they returned to the hotel room, but he didn’t miss the tease of Yuuri’s socked left foot while Viktor inspected his right. Trailing up Viktor’s inner thigh, toes flexing, then leaving the slightest pressure on Viktor’s hard-- 

“Yuuri,” Viktor choked out. 

The foot fell to the ground, leaving Viktor to finish his inspection and help Yuuri into his trainers. Yuuri stretched his muscles, making sure to release all the tension before he cooled down, and then, to Viktor’s continued frustration, Yuuri pulled him close when he went to watch the skaters after him in the waiting room. 

“I’m cold,” was all Yuuri had to say about it. 

Even if it might make more sense, Viktor didn’t dare suggest he put on his tracksuit. The thermal polyester and stripes of teal would clash with his once-perfect suit, would ruin the image they made together; the matched pair, the sensual black and red. He simply held Yuuri close, becoming the perfect coat for his lover, even if it pushed his suffering erection right up against Yuuri’s firm backside. 

Yuuri flexed his glutes, and Viktor felt himself reincarnate right then and there. He could feel the heat from Yuuri’s flushed ear against his cheek, and he knew Yuuri knew exactly what he was doing and was mildly embarrassed about it, but not enough to stop. And Viktor didn’t want him to stop, even if the damage it was doing to Prada Fall/Winter 2036 was irreparable. 

Something about the Prada name just made it all the more intoxicating. It wasn’t just a beautiful suit, perfectly fitted, priceless, and vintage; it was also _Prada_ and that just made it so much more important that it be kept pristine, and thus, made Viktor feel all the more debauched for ruining it. 

No-one nearby commented on their minor indecency, likely because they were in a room full of mostly betas who, while they could still smell Viktor and Yuuri to an extent, probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between sweaty omega and aroused omega. 

...Or not, Viktor realized when Phichit winked at him. He refocused on Chris’s performance just in time to see him slide across the ice on his knees, back arched and hips raised high in a pose that Viktor desperately hoped only mimicked an orgasm. 

“Well, Chris definitely wins for _mature eros_ today.”

Viktor couldn’t believe those words had escaped his beloved’s lips. What the hell? Did he think Viktor was currently creaming himself over _Chris_? 

By the time they returned to the hotel, Viktor was about ready to cry. 

“Yuuri.” 

“I’m going to shower,” Yuuri said, but he couldn’t mask the hint of amusement in his voice. 

“ _Yuuri_. You sadist.” 

“Aww.” Yuuri scooped Viktor into a hug. His fingers brushed the ends of the layered ocean curls Viktor had styled just for him. 

“You made me ruin my suit.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. 

“It’s _Prada._ ”

“Oh, my.” Yuuri didn’t know much about fashion, generally not one for brand names beyond his sponsored Mizuno athletic wear, but even he knew what the devil wore. Yuuri stepped back, his hands on Viktor’s waist holding him at arms’ length. He blinked a few times, looking Viktor up and down. His gaze rested on the dark stain starting to spread down Viktor’s thighs, just low enough to be visible. 

Viktor let him look. He felt thoroughly ravished under Yuuri’s hot gaze, almost as if they were actually fucking, and he whined, a soft noise through his nose that had Yuuri’s eyes snapping up to meet his. 

“Can we ruin it more?” Yuuri’s soft voice asked. 

A few moments of silence passed, in which Viktor could hear his heartbeat in his ears, racing. 

“Viktor?”

“Are you sure?” Viktor gasped out. He almost didn’t want to ask, because he _wanted_ so much, but it was so recently that Yuuri pushed him away even during their heats because he wasn’t ready, and Viktor had to know for certain. 

“Yes.” Yuuri swallowed audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he met Viktor’s eyes. “I’m sure. I’ve been sure all day. I’ve wanted you for — too long. I want you, now.” 

Viktor exhaled, heavy and needy. “How do you want me?”

Yuuri’s eyes sparkled, with mischief or arousal or, most likely, both. “On the bed. Keep the suit on, but open your jacket and shirt.”

Viktor did as he was told, fingers fumbling on his buttons. His thighs felt hot and sticky, the damp fabric rubbing together awkwardly as he sat on the edge of the bed. 

Yuuri stripped in the doorway, peeling off his tracksuit, his trainers, leaving them in a heap on the floor. He came to Viktor in his costume, the skin-tight velvet and tempting laces down his chest enticing Viktor to touch, to grab, to pull and rip -- but he waited. Yuuri traced the outline of a dark nipple through a tantalizing mesh cutout, then turned until his back faced Viktor. One arm curled over his shoulder to grasp the back of his neckline, pulling up, the seams down the line of his back going taut. 

“Do the zipper for me?” 

Viktor swallowed thickly, and reached up with trembling hands to pull down Yuuri’s diagonal zipper. The fabric parted, stretch fabrics pulling back as they were released, revealing smooth skin and the light musculature of Yuuri’s back. He pushed the fabric aside, over Yuuri’s shoulders and down his arms, past the stretch marks on Yuuri’s trim waist and the persistent love handles on Yuuri’s full hips. Down Yuuri’s thighs, thick with tight muscle. He slid from the bed to the floor, on his knees, and dropped the costume the rest of the way down Yuuri’s firm calves, and waited for Yuuri to step out of the straps under his instep, leaving him in only his dance belt and socks. 

Yuuri turned to face him once again, and Viktor scrambled back onto the bed, feeling threads pop in his inseam. He watched Yuuri pull off the dance belt right in front of him and toss it towards his pile of clothing. 

Yuuri lifted one socked foot and pressed it against Viktor’s fly, waited for Viktor to finish gasping and squirming long enough to pull the sock off. Then he did the same with his other foot, an unmistakable tease. 

Fluid as the seductress in the story of his short program, Yuuri sat himself in Viktor’s lap, arms around Viktor’s shoulders, and rolled his hips once, his half-hard cock and the soft lips of his cunt brushing along the top of Viktor’s thigh. His body hair, shaved elsewhere to reduce friction with his costume, was here only trimmed, and the thick stubble caught on soft wool. 

“Yeah?” Yuuri breathed. 

Viktor’s hands tightened on his hips. “Please.”

Yuuri sat down more firmly this time, and the next roll of his hips toward Viktor were followed by a new damp spot, and, oh, there was _no_ saving these pants now. 

“Haa…” Yuuri bit his lip, gripped the back of Viktor’s neck, pulled him in by the knot of his tie for a wet kiss, full of tongue and teeth and Yuuri’s moans. 

His body tensed under Viktor’s roaming hands, as Viktor tried to touch every bit of skin available to him. Yuuri’s thighs, his hips, his back. His dusky nipples that puckered under Viktor’s fingers. All the while, Yuuri’s hips moved, rubbing harder and harder against Viktor’s knee and thigh, leaving a wet line. His cock dragged, leaking pearly fluid along the once-perfect crease of the cashmere trousers. 

The mid-weight wool proved helpless against Yuuri’s flooding release as he tossed his head back, finally coming with a shout. Semen caught on Viktor’s waistband, clinging to the fabric, and Viktor felt the pressure of Yuuri’s cunt spasming and squirting against his leg, the slick fluids escaping down the sides. His thighs squeezed hard around Viktor, and Viktor held Yuuri as he rocked himself through it and then collapsed against Viktor’s chest, Yuuri’s head resting against his shoulder. 

Yuuri breathed hard, his hot breaths tickling Viktor’s neck. He placed a small kiss on the throbbing vein at Viktor’s throat; slid a hand down Viktor’s chest to pinch an impossibly pink nipple. 

“Yuuri.”

“You want to cum, don’t you?” Yuuri whispered, still stroking that nipple to hardness. It resisted, but the inverted nub’s stubbornness was no match for Yuuri’s persistent teasing. 

“Please.” 

One last pinch to the now exposed nipple, and it was Yuuri’s turn to get down on the hotel floor. It stunned Viktor, how easy it was for Yuuri to exude an infinite amount of power over him. Even naked and beneath him, on his knees, Yuuri need only look up at Viktor through the glasses sliding down his nose, his warm eyes smouldering hot and lips curling up at the corners, and Viktor was all Yuuri’s, forever. 

Yuuri pushed Viktor’s legs wide apart. His beautiful, big brown eyes widened impossibly large at just how much Viktor had soaked through the seat of his pants. The dark stain was all over the crotch and halfway down his thighs, the soft wool well and truly ruined. Once-perfect stitches puckered at the inseam. And, _oh_ , the smell, the mouthwatering scent of pure omega lust. Yuuri undid the fly with shaking fingers, pulled down Viktor’s pants just enough to get at him, only to meet the unexpected barrier of lace. 

Yuuri’s eyes met Viktor’s once again, questioning; he knew Viktor, like himself, didn’t wear underwear unless he was skating, so why now? 

And Viktor had to admit, it was purely for a hope of _this_. It wasn’t one of his usual solid black thongs, but rather a flimsy red G-string that barely covered anything, worn because it matched with the suit and the flush of his cock, and oh, fuck -- 

Yuuri had his fist around the waistband and in one sharp pull tore through the stitches, the panty coming apart in his hands. 

“I hope that wasn’t important,” Yuuri said, staring at the ruined mess of lace and ribbon in his palm. He tossed it aside, hesitating not a moment more before his mouth was on Viktor’s cock, two fingers parting his folds and pressing into his dripping hole. 

Viktor came before he could even fully appreciate the sight of it, Yuuri’s lips wrapped around him, sucking him down. Viktor’s eyes rolled back in his head, his hands fisted in the blanket below him, and he was gone. 

It took Viktor a while to come down, to realize that Yuuri’s fingers still played with his folds, admiring through touch the sticky wetness that continued to escape him with every throb of his cunt. Yuuri smiled up at him, his head resting to one side against Viktor’s thigh, looking content and satisfied. He pressed a kiss to the ruined leg of Viktor’s trousers, leaned his head against the same spot, his eyes closed while his fingers slid up and down lazily between Viktor’s legs. Viktor caught a glimpse of Yuuri’s softening cock resting on his thigh. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Yuuri said. 

“What, ruin one of my best suits?” Viktor couldn’t help but laugh, even as he was nearly breathless. 

Yuuri laughed as well, melodic. “Well, that too. No, I meant the rest of it. Tease you all day, then use my mouth and fingers on you. Did you like it?” 

“Did I--” Viktor’s words choked off as Yuuri’s fingers pressed inside him again. “Yuuri!”

“Should I stop? I can make you cum again, if you want. We haven’t ruined your jacket, yet.” 

“Yuuri, please, I can’t!” Viktor pushed Yuuri’s hand away, too over-sensitive to handle more touching so soon. 

Yuuri got to his feet, and he kissed Viktor deeply. He helped Viktor the rest of the way out of his suit. At Viktor’s request, he washed his hands before touching the jacket, so at least one piece of this suit could be saved, though the trousers were a lost cause. Viktor took in the extent of the damage as he hung them up. Some of the stains were starting to dry, discolored and warped. He sighed. 

He thought about Yuuri, trembling against him, moaning his name. 

_Worth it._

Yuuri’s arms came around his waist, and a sleepy voice asked him to come to bed. How could Viktor resist? 

**Author's Note:**

> I have another fic going on my new website! It’s called Internet Safety, and it’s an extremely nsfw BDSM AU (dom yuuri & sub viktor) that develops partially through online interactions, thus there’s a bunch of fancy formatting and ILLUSTRATIONS wao! Read the first chapter here: <http://casnouveau.com/fanfiction/internetsafety.html> and please leave a comment if you do~ It will be cross-posted to AO3 when I figure out how much of the formatting I can preserve. So far, the answer has been “not much”.


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